


A Tree, A Tabby, and True Love.

by the_east_wind_my_darling



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cat, It's Mycroft's cat, It's a cute cat, M/M, Mystrade fluff, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 05:03:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3196334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_east_wind_my_darling/pseuds/the_east_wind_my_darling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft's cat gets stuck in a tree, and Gregory has to come help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tree, A Tabby, and True Love.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about the title, but I really like alliteration. Thanks for reading! xoxo

“Hello? Anthea?” Mycroft called into the line, a vague static-y noise emerging from the other end. Of course this had to happen twenty miles from the nearest cell tower. 

“Mr. Holmes? You sound distressed, how can I help?” Anthea’s clear voice cut through the hush, professional as always.

“Well, erm- you see, my cat? You know, the tabby?” Mycroft stammered nervously. Anthea hummed her approval, not phased at all by Mycroft’s sudden awkwardness. He wasn’t trying to make this weird, but no one was supposed to know about Puck. 

“Well, she’s managed to get herself up a tree. Could you send help? And keep it discreet?” Mycroft answered, trying to keep his voice clear of embarrassment. 

“Consider it done, Mr. Holmes. And, sir? You don’t need to be ashamed of your cat. It’s quite adorable, actually, how much you care about it.” And on that disturbingly casual note, Anthea ended the call, leaving Mycroft Holmes to wait for help.

———

Half an hour later, a squad car pulled up, sending a cloud of dust and gravel up around the elder Holmes. The door was slammed shut with a solid thunk, and none other than Gregory Lestrade emerged from the airborne dust. Mycroft blinked, sure the cloud of death was obscuring his view, but Gregory still stood before him.

“You called?” Gregory said with a smirk.

“Yes, Detective Inspector, I was going for a morning stroll when I saw Pu- I mean, I saw this cat up a tree. I couldn’t exactly climb up it, and certainly not in these clothes, so I was hoping your assistance could be arranged,” Mycroft replied, a little nervous that Gregory caught his slip up. 

“Well, I’ll see what I can do,” Gregory responded, and then he promptly unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. Mycroft wasn’t prepared for the sight of those strong arms, and he politely looked away and tried to keep the heat from rising to his cheeks. It soon became clear, however, that he was fighting a losing battle as Gregory began to climb up the oak. His trousers were pulled tightly across his bum as he ascended the tree. Mycroft gave in and mentally catalogued the fit man’s anatomy, wondering what he would look like if he was just a bit less- well, a bit less clothed. Gregory twisted his head around when he was halfway up the tree.

“Getting a good look, are you?” He shouted down from his perch, winking at the gaping diplomat. Mycroft was too flustered to respond. Gregory finally reached the tabby tasmanian devil and carefully lifted him from the uppermost branches, cradling him against his chest as he inched his way back down the tree. When both his feet were finally on solid ground, he strolled over to Mycroft, looking no worse for wear except for a bit of sweat on his temples. Mycroft wished he could- no, that was too far, that thought would have to wait for later. Much later.

“I’m surprised you didn’t get scratched, he can be kind of vicious,” Mycroft admitted, his eyebrow raised. His speculative look turned into one of horror as he realized his mistake. “Not that I would know of course, just, I mean, he looks, I…” Mycroft realized, for once in his life, that he couldn’t come up with a valid excuse. It was probably the distracting chocolatey-brown hue of Gregory’s eyes that was distracting him. Damn sentiment. 

Gregory chucked quietly. “Hey, that’s okay. I think it’s nice that you have a companion. It’s pretty sweet, actually. The British Government has a weak spot after all. What’s his name?” 

Mycroft looked up at the other man’s gentle face. If only he knew that Mycroft had more than one weakness, now. “Puck. Named after a character in…”

“A Midsummer Night’s Dream, yeah. I played that mischievous fairy in our school play.” Gregory interrupted, his eyes lighting up with old memories.

“You participated in school productions?” Mycroft asked, unable to keep the curiosity out of his voice. 

“Yep. And my bum looked pretty good in those tights, too.” Gregory answered with a wink. 

“Oh, I have no doubt,” Mycroft whispered under his breath as he returned to stroking the tabby’s ears. 

“What was that, Holmes?” Gregory questioned with a smile. Mycroft panicked. Gregory was not supposed to hear that. Gregory only laughed and said, “Don’t worry, My. You’re not the only one who’s been thinking about more than just that cat today.” 

Mycroft smiled at Gregory, throwing away his doubts and insecurities for a few minutes. He could worry about those tonight, when he was alone with his thoughts. He had to be brave, now.

“And what was it you were thinking about, Gregory?” Mycroft practically purred himself. 

“That’s a dangerous question, Mr. Holmes. Are you sure you can handle it?” Gregory answered back.

“Try me,” Mycroft replied, and then Gregory was leaning in and cupping the handsome man’s cheek and pressing their lips together. Mycroft pressed in closer, hardly believing his luck. Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade kissing him, Mycroft Holmes? He wasn’t going to waste this oppurtunity. He lifted his arms and weaved them through the man’s salt-and-pepper hair, tugging gently. The forgotten cat hissed as he plunged toward the ground, but through the magic and grace that only felines possess, he landed on his feet. The disgruntled sound was enough to pull the two lovebirds out of their reverie. Gregory pressed his forehead against Mycroft’s, smiling at the elder Holmes. 

“Puck looks jealous, My. I think he’s used to being the one to get all your attention,” Gregory whispered, his lips moving against Mycroft’s. 

“He can wait,” Mycroft whispered back, and the British Government and the Detective Inspector giggled with one another.


End file.
